1,228 Readings | 4 Ratings

Still Life with Mariah Carey

So then my stomach gets lonely and picks up the phone
So then my mother is shy and home with her mop
So then my father is a bloated newspaper hung on the knob
So then my sister falls asleep with the snow in her arm
So then I explode into an ice cube of iseidomals
So then I jut out like a bird brain in a left brain
So then I get down and bump every grind in the dump
So then what if I slip up and smack a child with a bone
So then I’m never a mother gushing for an epidural
So then I fall off and break the axel of my cankle
So then I am eeking the alphabet of my grandmother
Counting teeth marks left in the mud
One apivorous morning
Two shays of the mouth
Too many cordate atoms
So then I’m a brass hook alow a barathea bog
And she sings through the apples swelling in the yard.

Posted 09/08/09
This poem was first published in Juked.
Comments
Commenting has been disabled for this piece.